Teaching Methods
by SociallyObscene
Summary: At 23 years old, Fang Walker is the youngest teacher at Highgate Wood - but more than anything, he's just bored. Upon meeting the infamous rebel-student, Maximum Ride, he couldn't have met her in a more vulnerable state. With a new friendship blooming from a horrible accident, the two face constricting rules and expectations from something they never anticipated.
1. Chapter 1

"Hey, Fang - take a break, alright? You've been grading for hours. At least go out for a smoke, you look like you need it."

The chair skidded across the floor as he stood abruptly, robotically. His mug of black coffee flicked back and forth; rivulets streaked the porcelain mug and droplets stained the corners of exams that he'd yet to grade. They were the ones that sat neatly in a pile away from the ink ridden copies that laid haphazardly on the opposite side of his desk.

The other teachers thought he didn't notice their eyes pressing into his shoulder blades as he strode to the courtyard, but he did. He just ignored it, like he did most things that weren't fascinating or interesting to him. Because although Fang Walker was a good man - and an even better teacher - he was human.

And he was _bored._

Fang's fingers fumbled with the new carton of cigarettes that lay in his numb hands, chilled from the biting England air. It was winter, which meant lazy snowflakes and snowboarding for students and the lucky teachers that taught drawing or orchestra in the Alps. Fang wasn't as fortunate, and bags were beginning to settle under his eyes from reading essay after essay, thesis statement after thesis statement. He'd been challenging his students, he'd thought, but he was just digging his own grave, writing an inscription on his tombstone that said, sloppily:

_Here lies the unfortunate and idiotic English teacher, Nicholas "Fang" Walker._

When the top of the carton finally opened, it was tattered and ripped with impatience. Fang flipped two of the cigarettes upside-down for good luck, and slid one out from the corner. His fingers were blindingly cold and red by the time he stashed the carton in his coat and gripped his Zippo - the metal seemed to be even colder than his hands - lighting the end of the cigarette quickly before taking a long, exhausted drag.

"Hey, mate," Fang heard someone call from across the courtyard, which was just a wasteland at that point, buried with snow. He nodded his head but didn't look to see who it was, because he already knew. It was the only other teacher that would talk to him, Iggy. "Are you nodding? Because I can't see you nodding."

"Hey." That was the curt reply that Fang came up with, and he chuckled to himself. He didn't know why Iggy taught when he was blind, but cooking was his absolute favourite thing in the world, and he could hear the students talking when they shouldn't or the chomping as they ate the ingredients, so Fang couldn't complain about his capability.

"They think you're a fucking joke. You know that, right?" Iggy said, extending his palm to Fang, who dug into his coat to retrieve a cigarette and his Zippo. Iggy's hands were warm as he placed the items on his palm, watching his spidery fingers encase the two, holding them for a moment before deciding they were good enough.

Fang took another drag. "Yeah, well, you're not much better, Cigs," he said, nudging him in the ribs. Iggy must have smoked a pack a day, giving him the nickname "Cigs" from all his coworkers, even though Fang wasn't any better. He shook out some of the ash piling on the edge of his cigarette, letting out another stream of smoke.

"At least they don't call me a fucking wanker behind my back."

Fang's eyes were beginning to sting from the incessant white bleeding on the earth. "You'd think they'd have better things to call an English teacher?" When Iggy chuckled, Fang's dull eyes sparked for a moment; he liked the way people thought he was funny, especially his coworkers.

"How's grading?" Iggy tried to change the topic.

"Fucking horrible." Fang ran a hand through his tousled hair. It was somewhat damp from the flakes of snow melting on him. "Do you have Maximum Ride?"

"Yeah, her cooking is ghastly." Iggy's face was pensive. "I think she burned cereal the other day."

"Well, she's not so bad of a writer, but she's bullshitting the absolute fuck out of the essay she had to write." Fang started to laugh for a moment before he caught himself. "It was about transcendentalism, and she's talking about bodies of water, like that's related to Walden Pond at all."

Iggy let out a wheezy laugh, the kind of laugh that a smoker choked out between constricted lungs. He waved Fang away when he sensed his concerned look. "She still shagging with that wanker, Dylan?"

Fang frowned. "Nah, she's been over him for a while. Mostly fights, though."

"She still winning?"

"Every time." Fang said it like it was something to be proud of, not something a teacher should chastise.

Most of the teachers talked about students when they were at the secondary school, but the student talked about the most was Maximum Ride, a rebellious and witty girl that spent Friday nights getting into four or five fights, and the weekdays somehow passing her classes, when she was already on thin ice. Beautiful, she'd make teachers quit or get fired - they'd all go for her. Naturally, one to talk about, she was dangerous and that was interesting.

"You better be careful," Iggy warned, but his tone was light. "She could make a move and get you sacked next."

"Oh, piss off," Fang sighed, "I'm twenty-three years old, it's not like I'm attracted to someone that's only fucking sixteen."

"Just a warning."

Fang crushed the cigarette butt underneath the soles of his Vans, standing up straighter. Iggy passed him his Zippo. "Watch yourself, you're a handsome twat. Maybe she likes tossers like you and Dylan."

"That's a great compliment from someone that's blind."

Fang and Iggy laughed. For teachers, they sure sounded like teenagers.

* * *

><p>The heat of the school was amazing against Fang's frigid skin as he waltzed back into the staff office, smelling of tobacco and winter. There were scattered looks as he dropped into his chair, placing his Zippo on one of the stacks of papers he'd yet to file. His fingers were still somewhat numb as he grabbed another essay to grade, noticing the coffee stains.<p>

"Bollocks," Fang whispered to himself, rubbing his growing migraine with chapped fingers. The brown colour seeped into the six pages of the student's essay, mingling with the ink. He'd have to ask the student for another copy.

Once again, Fang stood from his chair, but instead of running straight out of the office, he asked quite loudly, "Which class does," he looked at the name on the papers, "Monique Wilson have right now?" He remembered her, a mocha skinned girl with hair that curled in massive ringlets. She was well off as well, if he could recall, and it her nickname of "motor mouth" was extremely accurate, based off the length of her essay.

"Room 204, with Olivier," someone mused. Fang grabbed his bag and the thick essay, let out a small _thanks _with a curt wave, and went off to Olivier's room with distaste. He taught psychology and thought he could analyze students easily because of it, albeit he was the biggest wanker Fang knew.

When he reached the room, he knocked once on the doorframe before entering. Olivier was in the middle of lecture, yet he had the sense to continue his teaching of the prefrontal cortex while Fang went to find Monique. It wasn't hard, as she was sitting in the corner of the room farthest from him, and her caramel locks stood out from the lack of colour the students had in their hair.

"Monique, I'm sorry, I must've spilt coffee on your essay," he said quietly. She gave him a look of bewilderment, her thoughts displayed on her expression - _why is Mr. Walker talking to me? _The _Mr. Walker! _"Might you have a copy?"

It was true that he was popular with the students, but she seemed genuinely surprised, yet trying to look disinterested, because Fang could feel the pressing and jealous glares on the back of his neck as well.

She dug into the recesses of her pink handbag, the rhinestones reflecting off the ceiling light of the classroom and displaying shimmering squares on the wall of the room. Finally, she pulled out a memory stick in the shape of a giraffe. "Just make sure you give George back," she said, putting it in his hand.

Fang blinked. "Right."

She gave him a smile and turned back to face Olivier, who was giving Fang a glare. He had easily distracted half of his students; most of the girls had turned to watch him leave. "Pardon me for the intrusion," Fang said politely, but Olivier's glare just hardened.

It was hard not to laugh at him.

* * *

><p>On the way back to the staff office, Fang swore he could hear an incessant banging, but he wasn't quite sure whether or not it was his head pounding or something he should worry about. When voices came from the same sound of banging, <em>distressed <em>voices, Fang knew that he needed to find out what it was. He put George the giraffe into his pocket and went to the source, the chemistry lab.

By the time he entered, the place was trashed. Chemicals leaked onto the floor from dripping tables, beakers were smashed, and papers lay on the floor in a blurred streak, some painted with colourful chemicals. When he looked up, he saw four people huddling in the corner of the room, picking on one person that he couldn't make out.

Fang walked quietly in the room, avoiding the pieces of glass that would give him away, and began locking the windows to the room, blocking all the doors but the one he had come from. The students hadn't noticed him, but he winced and sped up when he heard the sound of skin hitting skin, the muffled cry of the victim. When he returned to the sole exit out, he cleared his throat thickly. Five heads whipped towards Fang's. Immediately, they tried to exit through the windows, only to find them locked.

"Satisfied?" Fang asked, crossing his arms. "The only way out is here. You have five seconds each to tell me your names before I expel you." There was a chorus of names rushed at the same time. "Separately, you twats!"

"Samuel Richards."

"Dylan Wilcox."

"Conall McCay."

"Duncan Clayworth."

The last one was a croak in the corner of the room. "Maximum Ride."

Fang's eyes widened, just for a moment, surprised that four boys would gang on just _one person. _He recognized most of them - he had taught them one year or another, and now they were just people that would flit about the school.

"All of you are staying after school to clean this mess, and I expect you all to reimburse Ms. Boyes for the damage of her chemistry equipment. Dismissed." Fang stepped to the side as the boys ran out of the room.

Fang rushed to the corner of the chemistry room, glass crunching under his Vans as he rushed to Max's side. It was a horrendous sight. Blood dripped from her forehead and ran down her face, collecting in a pool on her collarbone. She was naked, her blouse ripped and hanging on her waist. Her knickers hung on her ankles, and bruises layered over her fair skin in a film of blue, black, and yellow. Blood splattered on her stomach and arms and seemed to be gushing out of every orifice on her face, her nose dripping and her lip split. One of her eyes was swollen shut.

Fang swallowed thickly, pulling her knickers back onto her body, taking her pulse. It was there, but faint. "Did they...?" He asked, unable to say the rest.

Max chuckled. "Yeah, I guess they did." Her voice was distant, miles away, but it shattered his insides with a disgraceful and loud _crack. _

"I'm going to dial 999, okay?" He said, but he had already gripped his mobile with one hand and was holding hers with the other. It was limp. While he stated the emergency, he took off his blazer and wrapped her body in it, carefully cradling her head and covering her upper half with it. He hung up and stood, letting go of her hand, until she gripped it with a strong force he didn't anticipate.

"Don't leave," she croaked.

"I won't."

Max was extremely light in his arms, her bones seemed almost hollow. He ran quickly, but not so fast as to jostle her. "It hurts," she whispered, so quietly that he could barely hear it.

"It won't be much longer," Fang said, looking into her eyes. They were duller than his.

"Promise?"

"I promise," he said, but noticed how her eyes kept closing. "Max, I need you to stay awake."

"Why?"

"Because you could have a concussion, okay?"

"Fine," she still had the strength to say it stubbornly.

* * *

><p>When Fang got back to the staff office, he needed to find Iggy. No other strange looks that his coworkers had given him could compare to the one that he gave him now, holding a seemingly lifeless Maximum Ride, the most talked about student in the school. The only one without the reaction was Iggy, who couldn't see the sight.<p>

"Mate!" Fang cried out. "I need your help, Cigs!"

Knowing that Fang was the only one that would call Iggy "Cigs," he stood up and asked, "Are you the smell of blood?"

"No, it's Max."

"Max?"

"Maximum Ride, you twat!"

"Oh," he said, subdued for a moment, until he could grasp the situation. "The Queen's tits!" He shouted, aghast.

There was nothing else to be said. Iggy took Max in his arms while Fang messily grabbed his bag and his keys, spilling his coffee in the process. He asked another teacher, Marissa, if he could check him and Iggy out. She nodded as Max was put back into Fang's arms and Iggy started to call Max's mum. Max's sister, Ella, was paged to come to the main office.

The ambulance lights were bright, and the migraine that had been growing was pounding, hitting Fang's head and causing black spots to dance over his eyes. Students crowded over to the windows, wondering what was happening, while teachers futilely tried to usher them back to their seats. Some closed the blinds, some whispered, wondering what the two hottest teachers in the school were doing with a student they couldn't recognize.

Fang put Max on the awaiting stretcher gently, looking around for Ella and her mum, but the two hadn't arrived by the time she was to be taken into the ambulance. A paramedic tapped Fang's shoulder. "She wants you to come with her," he said, and Fang blinked.

"Of course."

He held her hand the entire way.

* * *

><p><strong>Okay, I need to STOP making so many stories just to make new ones, so I'm starting an updating schedule, if you will. This will be easier for me, and I'll start it this next week. Sorry for the usage of English slang... I think it suits the story and honestly, I talk like that all the time, so it's easier than being polite.<strong>

_-SOCIALLYOBSCENE_


	2. Chapter 2

**Ah, this is kind of a boring chapter, so I'm a bit sorry, but I think this gives an insight into Fang's thoughts, which is important. My scheduling will be starting next week, so I'll be sure to get reminders on that!**

**Disclaimer: MR isn't mine, guys.**

* * *

><p><em>Is this what death looks like? <em>Fang thought, his brows furrowing deeply in thought. His hair had fallen into his eyes, shrouding his vision, and his entire body felt cold, the kind of cold that seeps through clothes and wraps around any source of warmth and diminishes it.

_Bottomless, pitiful, and monochromatic... _

He ran a shaky hand through his tousled hair, keeping the hand perched on the top of his head. Although the room he was in was certainly very noisy, he couldn't hear anything but a low buzz and the stubborn "fine" that was the last coherent thing Max had yet to say to Fang. He blinked a few times, staring at the sleeping body that took up the bed he was laying on, squinting from the harsh light of the beeping monitors and ceiling lights.

Ella was sleeping next to him on a nearby chair, curled into a ball and nuzzling in Fang's jacket - the only thing he could give her as a condolence. He somewhat regretted it as the temperature in the room started to drop along with the sun, but thought better of it when he realized he liked it better when she was asleep. When her eyes were closed, she wasn't crying or asking ridiculous questions or blaming _him, _of all people, instead of thinking about the students that made her the way she was.

"Mr. Walker?" Ella said groggily, shifting in her chair. He turned his head back, flicking his hair and dropping his hand. He took his other away from Max's warm one, wiping his hand on his jeans. "What time is it?"

His eyes darted to the clock. "Half-past two."

She blinked. "In the _morning?_" Lethargic fists started to rub circles into her eyes.

Fang nodded. "Wouldn't you have to attend classes if it were the afternoon?"

She removed her hands, glaring at him for a bit, her eyes squinty and dull. "I didn't ask for your sass, Mr. Walker."

"As the teacher, shouldn't I be saying that?"

She scoffed. "Regular teachers would have gone home by now."

It was true. Fang hadn't left room 809 at Charing Cross hospital since Max was admitted. It was selfish, and it was strange, but for some odd reason, he wanted to be the first person that Max saw when she woke up. Fang wasn't sure why he thought this, but it was something along the lines of wanting to hear the typically rebellious student praise him for coming and finding her. And for something so seemingly boring like waiting in a hospital room, he found the future interesting and forthcoming.

Besides, his life was already so boring.

"Don't you smoke, Mr. Walker?"

Fang stopped gazing at Max's unruly and matted hair and looked at Ella incredulously. "Why does that matter?"

"Well, what I meant to say was, don't you smoke _a lot_? Like, pack-a-day kind of guy?"

He rubbed his temples, trying to avoid the oncoming migraine. First years were so bothersome and curious, with wide and awed eyes like a deer, completely innocent to the horrors of secondary school. Ella's head tilted to the side expectantly. They were also overconfident yet somehow sensitive.

"Once again, why does this matter?"

Ella looked like she wanted to sink into her chair, embarrassed. "Well, you haven't smoked in a while. Don't you want to?"

It was hard not to imitate her wishy-washy sort of speaking, but Fang did his best not to. He had those sort of urges from time to time, and it sort of came from being a teacher for so long and realizing that every student he ever taught was a hormone ridiculed mess, but there were other parts. Like wanting to be void of responsibilities like a teenager. He almost shook his head.

"Are you trying to tell me to leave?" Fang quirked a brow.

"Sort of."

"That's all you had to do, Ella. Try being more forward on your tests as well, Fray tells me your thesis statements are _comically _indecisive_._"

There was an offended cry from beside him. Fang smirked walked out of the room without looking back, but when the door closed behind him, it was like a lifeline getting snapped in half.

* * *

><p>Although he did it often, Fang hated smoking. He hated how he knew all the bad things it did to his health - and that he was probably going to get some form of lung cancer if he kept smoking a pack a day - he hated the way it stunk up everything from his car to his breath. He did it for the jittery feeling it gave him, the kind of slap in the face that told him that he was <em>alive. <em>

Fan's fingers were awkward and inept as they slid a cigarette out of the carton of Marlboro's that he'd opened the other night. His Zippo let a few sparks fly as they ignited the end of his cigarette, and Fang took a small drag, a fire starting to heat up in him. He recalled the events of the day and shuddered, remembering where he was and what he would have been doing if he hadn't been the one to find her. What if she hadn't been found at all?

Max's face entered Fang's mind as he took another drag, playing with his Zippo and lighting it every few moments. He liked the way the orange light would flicker on for a few seconds in the darkness of the early morning. He liked how he could control it, could turn on such a beautiful glow, and then diminish it like it hadn't even existed. But when he thought of Max, it wasn't any fun.

_Maybe I should just go home, _Fang thought finally. He was on his third cigarette and was starting to get cold, his nose numb and probably pink. Ella was still at the hospital after all, and she would give him back his coat eventually - she didn't like him enough to keep it, but had the courtesy to wash it for him. It probably smelled like cigarettes and coffee, but he couldn't care about what his students thought of him. Fang put his Zippo in his back pocket, stashing the cigarettes in the other one.

Fang brought out his phone, dialing the first number that came to his mind. "Cigs, come pick me up."

There wasn't a response, but the line hadn't clicked.

"Cigs, I need a lift to the flat and I know you're there."

There was a muffled noise on the end, like swallowed laughter.

"James Iggy Griffiths, you fucking twat! I need a lift to the flat and you and I both know bloody well that no other bloke is going to do it!"

The muffled noise was louder, like the laughter was almost uncontainable. Fang's eyes narrowed.

"Fine," Fang sighed, "I guess I'll just have to tell the headmaster that you fancy one of your _students, _Ella Martinez..." He let his voice trail off.

"Oh, you fucking wouldn't," was the first thing that Iggy said harshly into the receiver. Fang wanted to contain his laughter, but it was so difficult with Iggy getting all flustered.

"Ella's at the hospital, you know. Maximum Ride _is _her step-sister, you know."

Fang could almost hear the springs of Iggy's bed creak as he shot up. He could hear Iggy fumble with his buckle as he on put some pants, and the sound of the receiver muffle as he pressed it to his ear, trying to get a decent shirt on.

"Which hospital?"

Fang covered his mouth. He wouldn't laugh. "Charing Cross."

"Don't need to tell me twice."

* * *

><p>"Hey, mate," Iggy said, patting Fang on the back as he entered the waiting room. "You look like a meth addict, you know."<p>

"What the absolute fuck are you talking about?" Fang asked, somewhat insulted, somewhat amused. He liked the way that he could swear easily around Iggy, like it was a second language. It was amazing, the fact that he didn't have to politely speak to him the way he did other teachers that were just a bit older than the two. It made Fang tired to talk so much, or to say so many things that weren't necessary, just polite nothings. It was great to cut loose.

Iggy laughed for a moment while they started to walk to the elevator, and whipped out his phone while they were alone in the confined space. After passing it to Fang, he got a good look at himself through the inward facing camera.

"Oh, bollocks."

"Refined this morning, aren't we?"

Fang passed Iggy his phone. "I suppose it's a lifestyle."

When they reached room 809, the smell of antiseptic had infiltrated Fang's senses to the point of where he felt almost nauseated. He had never liked hospitals, and he didn't think he ever would. There was something about the pristine lab-coats that the doctors wore, the way their clipboards faced towards them and could be full of secret notes that documented ulterior plans. It was stupid, and Fang was paranoid about ulterior motives, but it was the truth and he wasn't about to deny it.

Iggy was the one who opened the door. Fang tried to look disinterested, which typically wasn't a difficult feat, but it was extremely tiresome as he stuffed his chapped fingers into the worn out pockets of his jeans, placing his impassive stare onto the bones of his cheeks like a mask. Iggy didn't bat an eye - he put on a facade as well, but his was of the opposite spectrum.

"Oh, Mr. Griffiths! You're here, too?" Ella said with awe. "I didn't know teachers did this kind of stuff."

Iggy flashed her a smile that seemed out of place for the situation. "We care about the well-being of our students, you see." His smile was overwhelming.

The two exchanged flirtatious comments that would never mean anything - after all, Iggy's love for Ella was completely unrequited, and, even if it wasn't, could never turn into anything while being a teacher. Fang had already stepped aside and stood at Max's hospital bed. He gripped her hand, feeling the warmth that was one of the only reassurances that she was alive. The hand twitched back for a moment, and Fang gripped it tighter.

"Max?"

There was a low groan from the bed as one of Max's hands reached to her forehead, rubbing it lethargically. "I did my essay, Walker, leave me the fuck alone..."

That's how he knew she was going to be okay.

* * *

><p>"Excuse me, Mr. Walker, but I'm not sure I quite understand how this works."<p>

"Are you an idiot?" Fang said from his desk. Students snickered. "I basically just told you what to do in a minimum of five minutes. Even _you _could have figured it out."

"I know," she said, sighing, "but I haven't been able to think clearly since my incident."

Of course she wouldn't be able to understand everything. _You're a tosser, aren't you? _Fang thought to himself. It had only been a fortnight since Max had left the hospital, and she was extremely skittish around people. She stopped fighting because she would have to touch people. She wouldn't come to all her classes because people would bombard her with questions. And there were the few, the seriously sick minded fucks, that would get annoyed and hurt her because of the four students that were expelled.

"Get over here, and bring a chair." Fang took another sip of his coffee and sighed, thinking about how often this would happen. It wasn't an issue, and Fang actually liked it when she talked to him, because it made him less guilty. Nonetheless, Fang had been as much as a wreck as Max had been over the past fortnight, and coffee stains littered graded work. He hadn't even returned George the giraffe.

"Whoa, is this Nudge's?" Max asked, taking the giraffe from Fang's desk.

He snatched it from her hands. Was Nudge her nickname? "You had a question about the assignment?"

She sulked for a moment and opened her mouth, as if wanting to say something but not knowing how to articulate it exactly. Fang liked that about Max, they was she was constantly reevaluating herself to fit the needs of others. Although she liked to play stubborn and cocky, Max actually cared about others more than herself. "I just don't get it."

Fang sighed again, and explained it to her once more. Pointing to her papers and hitting different words on the paper. "Where's your copy of _Hamlet_?" he asked her. When she pulled it out from the bag that was draping over her thin shoulders, it was tattered and emaciated, the spine crooked and various papers ripped and stuffed back into their appropriate place. Max bit her lip but didn't say anything. "I won't ask if you don't want to tell me the answer."

"Ah, they kind of trashed my stuff when it happened, so..."

Fang didn't miss a beat. "Then you'll have to make do, yes?" She gave a curt nod, but a smile was toying at her lips. "Turn to page fifty-nine..." He kept talking, telling her the same things that he did the rest of the class. Max peered over his shoulder, staring blankly at the text. "Don't tell me you forgot how to read as well?"

A blush creeped up onto her skin, and Fang blinked for a few moments. Max seemed almost childish as she said, softly, "You just smell weird."

Fang put down the book. He was certain that he didn't smell strangely, for he just had the scent that he always did. However, her opinion, for some reason, mattered to him in that instance.

"Oh? What do I smell like?"

"Coffee and cigarettes." Ella's lack of confidence was definitely from Max.

"Then what's new?" He asked, looking at her.

"It's just different from a student's smell."

Fang rubbed his temple. "I'm your teacher, Max. Of course it's different." He pointed to the book with his ballpoint. "Do you get this?"

She nodded, picked up the book, and went back to her seat, but Fang couldn't help but feel a ghost of a smile tug at the corners of his lips.

Maximum Ride was definitely interesting.

* * *

><p><strong>Please tell me what you thought!<strong>

_-SOCIALLYOBSCENE_


	3. Chapter 3

**ughhh I now live in America as of last week. It was also my birthday yesterday, so HAPPY BIRTHDAY to me! I'm sorry I didn't update this for a while - I've been writing bits and pieces of it for the past few weeks and being really pissy and not liking it at all, but thanks to DesperatelyObvious for writing a lovely review that made me finish this seriously! I'm super happy with how this chapter turned out, and I love where it's going to go...excellent...**

**Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine, just the plot and words.**

* * *

><p>"Okay, we've got the library to use for your research essays, yes?" There was a monotonous, collective groan from the students. Fang laughed. "You are to write an essay on modern day connections through <em>Hamlet<em>, whether it be by looking at psychology, religion, or morality - whatever topic you fancy. I expect no less than two thousand words."

"Seriously, Mr. Walker?"

"Come _on._"

A few pencils and papers were thrown in his direction at the top of the classroom, and most of the students took to talking, their voices creating a low hum that rang in Fang's ears. Ever since Max's incident, the four expelled students were all that they could dare to speak about, and it was exhausting and irritating to hear it incessantly each and every class period. Fang's fist crashed down on the front desk. The silence that followed was deafening.

"Listen, you lot," Fang hissed. The students were obviously surprised, as Fang rarely snapped, much less in front of his pupils. "I will not tolerate your _impudent _behavior and blatant distaste towards the curriculum that I have prepared for you. This is a school, not a zoo, so _please _stop acting like barbaric, deplorable animals."

_Deplorable? Since when did you actually qualify for this job? _Fang thought.

There was a shuffle as the students began to collect their assignment sheets and shamble to the library, frowns on some faces and shell-shocked expressions on others. It was actually quite amusing. Just as Fang was about to close the door to the classroom and shut off the lights, he realized that Max still hadn't gotten out of her chair.

"Max, have you lost the ability to walk?" Fang coughed slightly, ridding himself of his bitter mood, shaking his head stiffly. His mood was catching up with him, and he sighed, weaving in and out of the rows of desks, his fingers sliding off the wood as he reached to the solemn corner of the room where Max was. The metal of the chair was cool as he pressed it against her desk, sitting down to face her. "Are you alright?"

It never really occurred to Fang to treat Max differently because of the "incident" that she had experienced. He had always assumed that in order to get over it, everyone would have to move on collectively and act like nothing had happened, so that it was almost as if the incident never even permeated through the thoughts of students so they remembered that _yes, something like rape still goes on. _

Fang was just realizing how idiotic that thought was as he looked over at Max. Her gaze was blank, as if she hadn't even acknowledged that Fang was sitting right in front her, but it was obvious that his presence was unnerving to her - her shoulders were tense, her lip taut and entire body seemingly on edge. Fang moved back a bit, deciding to sit at the desk next to her rather than opposite, so she didn't have to look at him directly if she didn't want to.

"I'm okay, really," was the first thing she said as Fang perched into his chair. It was so horribly clear that she _wasn't _okay.

"It would be okay if you weren't, you know," Fang said conversationally, like they weren't discussing something important at all. Like it was the weather, and they were talking about it being somewhat warmer as the snow melted around them.

"I know."

Fang felt awkward, so unsure of how to help her, but he knew that in that moment, he couldn't do anything. He felt almost helpless, knowing that Max was the only one who could _really _pull herself out of her own head. "Do you want to do the assignment? Get your mind off things?" It was almost like a joke the way he said it, because even Fang knew that he wouldn't want to do the assignment he had put in place, either.

But she must have gotten that he was kidding, because a rough and inept smile pulled at the corners of her lips, her tongue poking out a bit at the corners of her mouth as she gave a small laugh. "No," she said, glancing in his direction once, just to see that Fang was covering his mouth with his hand. "What's so funny?" she said, her eyes hardening in a form of familiarity to Fang from her previous days.

"I don't want to do it either," he said.

They both laughed, Fang's hand hovering over his mouth in a self-conscious habit, and Max's tongue coming out at the tiny space between her teeth. When they died down, it was silent, a comfortable kind of silence that people have after a meaningful yet short conversation.

The two studied each other for a moment. It wasn't as if Fang was particularly interested in the way Max looked - she was beautiful, it would be a lie to deny it - but he was more fascinated by the little things about her appearance, little keyholes to her personality that showed in such inconsequential places. He looked at her hair and how it was disheveled and raw, like she hadn't taken the time to brush it that morning. He looked at her uncoordinated outfit that smelled strongly of detergent, like she put too much in by accident but couldn't be bothered to put the excess back. Fang covered his mouth again as a smile pushed onto his face.

"I think you're strong," Fang said suddenly, breaking the silence, but it was almost as if he had blurted it out unintentionally. He hadn't really been thinking that much, just simply observing - as he was inclined to observe rather than speak - but it was like Max had taken out his worries and replaced it with a warm oblivion. Now that he had said it he didn't really regret it. "I really do."

She looked the other way. "I think you're an okay teacher," she said, and grabbed her backpack with nail-bitten fingers. They curled around the strap in a somewhat mesmerizing motion. When Fang blinked, she was already halfway out the room, shuffling to the front of the classroom, her bag swung haphazardly across her angular figure. She reached the doorway just as Fang arrived at the side of his desk, grabbing a few papers and trying to rid himself of whatever trance he had been in while talking to Max. "Even if I'm a barbaric, deplorable animal," she said, holding up fingers to mock what he said.

Fang opened his mouth to say something, but she had already walked out of his room and was walking to the library, leaving Fang to wonder if he was the only one who payed attention.

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><p>The staff toilets were an interesting mix of disgusting and professional. The room itself was precariously shaped, like the walls were slanted and the sinks hanging off the edge of a hypothetical cliff. The cubicles were thin and worn down, like a cat had been scratching at them for ten years straight with unnecessarily long nails. There never seemed to be enough toilet paper, however, and there was an unsettling and out of place smell of lavender that was horrifyingly thick in the air, like a skunk drenched in perfume to rid its horrible stench. Disgustingly professional, as Fang would put it.<p>

Fang sneaked a glance at his reflection in the murky mirror above the sink. He never understood why students were so fascinated with the way he looked. He didn't see handsome or pretty; he saw painfully average black holes where people's eyes usually were - his were such a deep brown they were almost bottomless, and he _hated _it; they had no character, they weren't expressive, and were horribly boring. He saw the huge crater in the side of his face and the way his hair curled ever so slightly, but not enough to be considered charming, just lazy and disheveled. He blinked back at his reflection with a stoic glare, stepping backward and flicking his fingers to rid it of water, and the door opened.

"Hey, Fang," Iggy said as he opened the door, striding with calculated steps towards him.

"How'd you know I was here?" Fang asked, noticing the stiff and robotic way that Iggy was walking.

"Because," Iggy said, forcing a sweet smile onto his face, "I've been having to 'watch' all of your little creatures do their report on _Hamlet _while you were enjoying yourself in the loo." Iggy clapped a large hand onto Fang's back with enough force to push him forward.

"Oh."

"Yeah," Iggy smiled, "oh."

"I'm sorry-"

"Do you know how annoying it is to listen to idiotic children babble about anything but their project, think that they can sneak out because I can't see, and have me to say 'get your bloody ass back in that chair' eighty times before they get that they're not going anywhere?"

"Very annoying, actually, I do it every class period."

"That's because they can smell the twat on you."

"Watch it," Fang said dentiloquently. He shook his head at his own statement.

"Would if I could!" But Fang knew that Iggy couldn't be mad at him for any longer than twenty minutes. "Hope you enjoyed your little break, but those monsters are on your hands now." He walked into a cubicle, leaving Fang to run back into the library while internally hitting himself in the head for being so spaced out.

When he reached the library, the students weren't doing anything pertaining to their work at all, but were talking amiably in little groups. The only one that was working was Max, her head bent into her book and a hand held lazily over the mouse, an article about philosophy on the screen.

The librarian, Ms. Hall, was sitting at her desk, filing papers with a confused expression on her face. She had hearing aids that were older than half of the students at the school, and couldn't be bothered to change it because of the cost. She never heard anything, and it was obvious that she couldn't hear the hum of mouths talking incessantly in the room, either.

Fang stood at the corner of the room for a while, simply watching the students as they thought that he wasn't there. A few of them were in deep in conversations, some clicking at their screens every so often, and others sitting on their phones, their fingers tapping furiously at the screen. He watched it all, realizing what students were like without the teacher there to direct and keep an eye on them at all times.

Lissa and Brigid, two girls with unnecessarily long, pink acrylic nails and shiny red hair walked up to Max. Fang found himself involuntarily rigid, like he would be for any student, he supposed, if he thought they were in danger. They started talking conversationally, it seemed, although he couldn't hear any of the words at the distance he was. It went on for a while until a look of hurt spread across Max's features, quickly replaced with amusement. Fang willed himself to stay in the spot he was in until he heard Max say something, loud enough so that he could hear.

"Are you sure you want to call me a whore when Mr. Walker is right there?" She said, pointing in Fang's general direction. He resisted the urge to laugh as the redheads looked over to where he was standing, immediately preening themselves to look presentable, and allowed an impassive gaze that he was very well known for encompass him as he strode to the spot.

"How's _Hamlet _coming along?" He asked the girls. Max was biting on her tongue while Brigid and Lissa both stuttered to find words. "That well, huh? Detention - oh, and do tell everyone who tried to leave under Griffith's watch will meet the same fate as well." The rest of the class had realized that Fang was back at that point. They whispered feverishly to each other while frantically pulling up articles and flipping to random pages in their copies of _Hamlet. _

"Thanks," Max said to Fang, who blinked his stupor off of his face to give her a small wink back before attending to another student. He looked back at her to see her writing something into her notebook, a smile infecting the features on her face, her eyes laughing and teeth exposed.

Fang laughed, but pushed away the unfamiliar tugging at the bottom of his stomach, like he wanted more but didn't have anything to give.

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><p><strong>So! What do you think? R&amp;R~<strong>

_-SOCIALLYOBSCENE_


	4. Chapter 4

**UNNNNGGGGGG. THIS CHAPTER. HOLY SHIT THIS CHAPTER. THIS TOOK ME SO BLOODY FUCKING LONG I SWEAR TO GOD.**

**sorry for that! i'm just super super excited about this? also, i've noticed there's been some confusion about me, like "what? where are you from?" because i move around a lot (haha, sorry?) BUT. to keep it simple, i was born in London and lived there for a bit, then moved back and forth from there to New Zealand because of her work. i just recently moved to America, as she was fired from her job and got a new one there. fair enough? **

**cheers.**

**disclaimer: JP owns Maximum Ride, not me.**

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><p>"That's a lot of cigarettes," the cashier at the counter commented, a teenager with a horrifyingly Northern accent, like he'd just escaped Yorkshire. His curly hair whipped at his face; curls twisted over his eyebrows and stopped roughly and unevenly at his jawline - it looked as if someone had sheared off the rest with pliers. He raised his eyebrows at Fang in an unrecognizable way, like Fang only had a few more days left to live with such a large order. It was really only eight assorted colours of Marlboros, yellow and blue and red and green packs, because why the fuck not?<p>

"I'm aware," Fang replied dryly, tapping his fingers impatiently on the rubber conveyor belt, pouring his opaque eyes into the cashier's. He raised his eyebrows back. "I fondly call it an addiction."

The kid rung up the cigarettes without another word, but the look on his face contorted into more of a grimace with each pack of cigarettes that he pressed to the scanner. "It's your life," he said as he dumped the cartons in a plastic bag, pressing the handles into Fang's hand and shaking his head.

"Also aware." Fang tossed him twenty pence as he walked away as an insulting tip, and the flustered teen caught it with much alarm, like he'd expected Fang to throw a grenade.

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><p>Fang had just stepped on the pavement outside of Tesco when his mobile rang, blasting "Eucalyptus" by <em>The Deadly Syndrome, <em>a song that faintly reminded him of old reruns of generation one of _Skins _for some reason. He waited a bit before picking up, listening to the tune of the song until he feared the person on the line would hang up.

"Yeah?" Fang asked, blinking as he realized he'd forgotten to check the caller ID.

"Mate, where are you? I'm bored as hell and need you back at the flat so we can watch some badly done American horror films."

"Cigs," Fang breathed, shaking his head as he opened the door to his car, sliding in the passenger seat and gripping his keys with his other hand. "You're aware of the fact that you're blind, right?"

"So?" Iggy sighed. "I'm in the _mood, _Fang. I'm in the mood for satanic American horror films, and I know you won't waste your quid on taking me to the cinema, so get your arse over here and we'll watch _The_ _Conjuring _or maybe _Paranormal Activity _or something."

"Okay, whatever," Fang said, turning the key, his hand buzzing from the roar of the car while it ignited. "I'm just leaving Tesco, so-"

"Oh, you are?" Iggy asked, and Fang could definitely tell that he'd perked up. "We're out of popcorn, you know, and I can text you some spices I need-"

"Cigs, I'm _leaving _Tesco," Fang clarified, "all I got were cigarettes."

"Did you get the red carton of Marlboros?"

"Does it matter? You can't see them."

"Fang, when will you ever learn? _I live for the experience. _Plus, the red cartons are the best quality."

Fang chuckled to himself. "You're like the kid who thinks Froot Loops have different flavours."

"I'm not _like _that kid. I_ am _that kid. Did you get them or not?"

"Yes, I did. And you're fucking twenty-five, please learn to get a life."

Iggy laughed on the other line, a throaty kind of laugh like he wasn't paying as much attention to the conversation at hand, but wanted to contribute in some way. "Alright, mate. Come back right away, yeah? You've got twenty minutes before I put _Texas Chainsaw Massacre _in the player."

"If you can find it," Fang said, but Iggy had already hung up.

* * *

><p>Fang and Iggy had already smoked two of the cartons of cigarettes, seen seven films, and had ordered Chinese takeout a few hours ago that beginning to taste like cold grease with each lazy bite of lo mein when a faint buzzing in Fang's pocket jumped him out of his stupor. He recognized the tune of the alarm on his phone, "All That We Are" by <em>Creel Commission, <em>which meant that it was his alarm to _wake up for work_. His fingers fumbled with the lock screen as he turned it off, looking around the room in bewilderment of his and Iggy's foggy night.

The Chinese food that they had ordered eons ago was sprawled across the coffee table, some of the rice pouring out of the sides and onto the carpet. Noodles dangled precariously off the edge of the table, and pairs of chopsticks littered the ground, sauce mixing into papers that Fang was positive belonged to students at one point. The copies of DVDs were out of their case, and films that Fang didn't even remember watching sat on countertops and on top of the television set.

Iggy was curled up in a ball on the couch, face half submerged in a bowl of popcorn, smelling oddly of strawberries, his hair stuck on end like he had been electrocuted.

"Mate," Fang hissed, hitting Iggy squarely on the shoulder. Iggy bounced up, causing the popcorn to fly everywhere, and squinted harshly at Fang like he was adjusting to the light, but Fang knew it was a glare more than anything else. "We've got to get to the school."

"But it's Sunday?" Iggy yawned, stretching, popcorn crunching as he did so.

"No, it's Monday, and I've got that class trip in Kent, and you've got to teach some hungry and hormonal teenagers the importance of nutrition."

And at that note, the two of them stood abruptly, rushing to get ready for the day, Iggy yelling obscenities as he fumbled with his jumper, Fang mixing dry shampoo in his hair and brushing his teeth, lathering cologne on to rid the smell of cigarettes and stale Chinese food.

"What about the sitting room?" Fang asked, throwing on a simple black shirt and jeans - this _was _a class trip, and volunteering meant he could wear something far more casual than his usual collared shirt and khaki jeans - and stuffing money into his jeans pocket when he realized he hadn't packed any food for the trip.

Fang heard Iggy hopping in the other room, no doubt attempting to put on a pair of socks on one foot, as he said, "We'll do it later!"

Once they arrived at the school, it was five to eight, and Fang was ten minutes late. The students in his class looked bewildered at his no doubt casual appearance; he tried to look as classy as he could, smoothing down his tousled hair with a jittery hand, and gave a caffeinated smile to the class.

"Everyone ready for Kent?" He asked, breaking the awkward silence. "Lunches packed? Money, if you want to buy something?" He cleared his throat. "Anyone know _why _we're going to Deal?"

Most of the students continued to whisper to each other until Ari, a rather tall rugby player, raised his hand. He was a notorious tosser with the memory of a peanut from all the weed he smoked, but had an aptitude for literature. "Well, didn't Julius Caesar set foot there?"

"And why is this important?"

"Um," he stuttered, "can I phone a friend?" The class erupted in stifled laughter. Fang let out a small chuckle.

"Why not? Pick on someone to finish for you."

Ari looked around for a while until his eyes settled on Max's, who shook her head and gave him a menacing glare, even though the smile toying at her lips gave out her real intentions. The two were like brother and sister, always close, or so Fang had heard. "Max," Ari said, pointing in her direction.

"Well, um," Max started, "we're supposed to be looking at modern connections to _Hamlet, _right? And I'm sure all of us can think of times when we've felt forced to have responsibilities we don't want. Caesar and Alexander the Great were forced into their positions at an early age because of their fathers - Alexander was thirteen and Caesar was sixteen. I mean, Hamlet was what, in his early twenties? But his father's death gave him responsibilities he wasn't prepared for. And Caesar was killed by people who were supposed to be his _friends, _like Hamlet's father was killed by his brother. We've all been lied to. Cheated. Beaten up. Forced to do something we didn't want to. We've been backstabbed before, Caesar just was backstabbed _literally_." The class laughed at her comment.

"Good," Fang said, feeling a smile spread onto his cheeks, and he was so mesmerized in her insight that he didn't think to cover his mouth, just smiled and let it happen. It was so impressive, the way she could connect things to herself and make it so real, so fucking real that he forgot that it was a play. "Then let's go to Kent! We'll be in Deal in about two hours."

So they boarded onto a chartered bus, students pairing up in seats. Another smile spread to his face as he watched Max interact with Ari, but that same feeling tugged at his chest as he looked at the way Ari looked at Max. He forced himself to look away from the laughing pair, hating that he didn't know why it made him sick to look at her. He was supposed to be glad she was getting over everything, right?

* * *

><p>It was midday and typical England weather by the time Fang and his class arrived at Deal Beach. Clouds were spreading over the vast sky, and wind was lapping at Fang's unevenly brushed hair as he stepped off the bus and onto the pier.<p>

The pier was lined with benches and stretched over fifteen kilometers long. Dim lampposts lighted the cloudy afternoon, and the light wind enabled the salty water to infiltrate Fang's nose, salty and smelling like seaweed and sweets, almost, due to the café at the end of the pier mixing with the ocean. He'd told the class that they could explore the pier, but if they so much as left, the teachers - including Olivier, who was more than happy to throw them in detention - would catch them.

Fang walked for a while down the pier before coming to a stop, leaning against the yellow railing. He looked back at the students, and once certain he was at a safe enough distance, took out a carton of Marlboros he'd yet to open. He flipped two upside down for good luck and lit the tip with his Zippo, taking a long drag, easing his nerves quickly.

"Hey, Mr. Walker," he heard someone shout out. Fang blew out smoke as he turned to see who it was, finding Max standing next to him in a jumper and deep black leggings and leg warmers. Fang automatically felt subconscious and was about to stamp out his cigarette when Max rushed next to him and assured him he could smoke. He took another drag.

"Yes, Max?" he responded, figuring it was obligatory. The wind made it difficult to look at her, so he signaled her to stand next to him. The two looked at the ocean for a while.

"Ask me how deep the ocean is," she said after a while.

"Shut up," he replied playfully.

"Come on," she said, nudging his arm. His cigarette hit him in the side of the face. "Just ask me."

"Why?" He said, turning to look at her. Her hair was being buffeted by the wind, but the way her eyes lit up made him laugh lightly.

"'Cause I know the answer," she said matter-of-factly.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, feigning surprise, "do you?"

"Yes, I do."

"How deep is the ocean?" Fang asked, playing along.

Her tongue poked out of her teeth in a smile, then she said loud enough to beat the wind, "I'm not gonna say."

"I'm brokenhearted."

She nudged him again. "The ocean is six miles deep."

"Good."

They gave each other sideways glances for moments that felt like minutes, until Max started to chuckle. And that one bit of laughter was enough to get them both going, until they were laughing for minutes, laughter that didn't seem to die down. It was so ridiculous, but whenever he'd look over to see Max trying to stop laughing, that would erupt another round of laughter. Fang just let it happen, because after a while trying in vein to cover his toothy grin was impossible, and it made laughing easier, more enjoyable.

They stood in a comfortable silence for a while longer, looking at the waves collapse against the side of the pier. It was quiet even in the loudness that was behind them, students playing games and sitting on the benches just to talk. Fang was on his second cigarette and was enjoying Max's company.

"So how are you?" Fang asked, sneaking a glance towards Max. Her eyes flickered towards the clouds, like she was seriously contemplating this simple question, before saying that she was fine with the confidence of a traffic light.

"Seriously," Fang continued, "are you ever going to tell me the truth?"

"I don't think so. Maybe if you get a terminal illness."

Fang took an over-exaggeratedly long drag from his cigarette before puffing a stream of smoke into the air, staring at Max the entire time to emphasize her 'terminal illness' statement. "Fair enough."

"You're a twat, you know that?" she said dryly, like she was complimenting his shoes, almost.

"Eh, whatever."

"No, really," she said, "you're like, _the ultimate twat_," she said in a deep voice, like she was impersonating Darth Vader or something.

"Well, at least I don't lie, even when the question is 'how are you,'" Fang retorted, stamping out his second cigarette. He was half-hoping for a reaction, half-hoping she'd tell him the truth.

He just wasn't expecting what she actually said.

"Well, I'm a girl who has been tamping down on her emotions and keeping them tightly guarded her whole life, and that worked really well for me." She sighed. "And after what Dylan did to me, I just feel like that shell has a dangerous crack in it. Without much effort on his part, it split wide open, and my enormous river of emotions just gushed out - the bad and the good. And I thought, 'I don't know if I can do this,' because I just _don't know. _It was just the scariest thing I'd ever thought of."

"But that's _life. _You can't just go through life like that. There's so many things to see, and living your life in monotony just makes it boring," Fang winced at his own words. How boring was his life? Just an English teacher stuck in London, staying up all night just to watch horrible films with his blind best friend, describing scenes as they happened, laughing at jokes before Iggy could even _understand _them. Fang shook his head. "You're so smart, and amazing, and it's horrible what they did to you."

Max just laughed, an empty laugh that didn't reach her eyes. "He's already found another girlfriend, too - she's got an incredibly long neck. Just looking at giraffes makes me angry."

"Thank god you don't have that issue." Fang said, toying with his Zippo. He lit it on and off, on and off, looking at Max and imagining her with a giraffe's neck. A smile escaped from his mouth and he covered it quickly.

"Why do you do that?" she asked suddenly, watching him put his hand back into the pocket of his jumper.

"Do what?"

"Cover your mouth when you smile."

"Does it bother you?" Fang asked her, raising an eyebrow. He hadn't really thought about that, to be honest.

"Well, I just think it's a waste," she said, filing a hand through her wind-whipped hair. "You've got the most beautiful smile, you know," she said, and then smiled widely, putting her index fingers on the corners of her mouth to emphasize her point. "It's vibrant."

Fang pushed the blush that was already beginning to creep onto his face down before swallowing thickly. That aching in his chest was becoming unbearable. He was extremely aware of her in that moment, the way she smelt like lavender detergent mixed with pepper and old pages of a book, that the colours of her eyes were almost like honey when they poured into his, and the way the bottom of her front tooth was chipped - her imperfections, no matter what they were, were still lovely.

He hated how gorgeous she was, how much she didn't _think _she was. He hated it, and for a moment, he hated her for it, hated the way she could make him smile as easily as he did. Hated her way of speaking, how simple sarcasm could drip from her voice just as easily as beautifully crafted words could.

Fang swallowed again, not sure what to say. He bit his tongue to force impulsive words and tangents out of his mouth, yet still so sure that he was about to say something he would regret-

Olivier's whistle blew loudly over the pier in a signal that it was time to go back to the bus. Fang blinked a few times, shaking himself out of his trance. He answered her question simply before walking down the maroon floored pier:

"We've all got our insecurities."

The smell of lavender detergent clogged his sinuses the entire way back to the school.

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><p><strong>Guys, I worked SO hard on this chapter for you all! I hope you liked it! Please give me a review if you think something should be a certain way, or if you have any suggestions!<strong>

_-SOCIALLYOBSCENE_


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